


Contretemps

by envysparkler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 'just because we broke into a prison together doesn't mean we're friends', Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Broken Bones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, in which I rewrite the ending of Civil War without actually fixing anything, whump fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: “That shield doesn’t belong to you.  You don’t deserve it.  My father made that shield!”“Fuck you, Tony.”(Arguments, a prison break, and panic attacks.)
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 136





	Contretemps

**Author's Note:**

> In which I rewrite the ending of Civil War because I can. Not exactly a fix-it. Basically an excuse for whump.
> 
> Lots of arguing that gets pretty nasty at times. Also: cursing. Not an unhappy ending because I can't write unhappy endings.

The shield raised high over his head, blue eyes glinting. Tony flung his arms up, already knowing it would be worthless against supersoldier strength.

The shield came down.

And slammed into his chest. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, but Steve slid off of him and Tony’s lungs started working again. The arc reactor flickered, and died, and Tony felt the moment when several hundred pounds of armor turned inert.

Steve wrenched the shield out of him and Tony spluttered. His chest ached, pulsing in tune with the rage seething in his veins. He managed to turn his head enough to see Steve limp over to Barnes – the Winter Soldier – the _murderer_ – and help him up.

“That shield doesn’t belong to you,” Tony hissed, attempting to get up, “You don’t deserve it!” Steve didn’t even give him a backwards glance. “ _My father made that shield!_ ” Tony snarled, ignoring the burn of tears down his face.

“Fuck you, Tony.”

Tony reeled back at the venom in his voice, and watched Steve’s back disappear from view. He swallowed, and tried to curl his fingers into a fist, tried to roll over, tried to get up.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t even reach the release valves. He had safeguards for EMPs knocking out the suit’s power, but had never thought to protect against someone slamming a _vibranium shield_ into his chest.

He stared at the gray walls of the bunker. His tears were already freezing on his face, and his breath was coming out into puffs of white clouds. The suit was cooling down fast.

He had told no one where he was going. Sam had asked, and Tony had honored that. What did he have to worry about if Steve was there?

He felt like laughing. He felt like laughing until he choked on it, until all the energy drained out of him, hysterical and furious.

Bucky Barnes had murdered his parents. _Bucky Barnes_. Steve’s _friend_.

Steve had chosen Bucky over Tony. Had chosen Bucky over _everything_. And now Tony was going to freeze to death in the middle of nowhere – because he’d _trusted_ Steve, because he’d thought, for all their differences, that the man considered him a friend.

The more fool he.

Steve had made his opinion clear years ago. It was only Tony who was clinging to an outdated idea of friendship, of _family_.

A footfall sounded and Tony sucked in a sharp breath. Zemo. It looked like Tony wouldn’t get to die of hypothermia after all.

The face that hovered into view had bright blue eyes and blood smeared across a broken blue mask. His jaw was tight, set, and Tony was silent as Steve found the catches and peeled open the suit.

“Can you stand?” Steve asked flatly, once the armor was removed. He was still glaring, his eyes icy cold, and Tony couldn’t meet his gaze. The disappointment was hard enough to bear already, its weight a tangible thing.

Tony rolled out of the armor, and braced a hand – no, _not that one_ , that one was definitely broken and he couldn’t entirely suppress the strangled cry.

Steve didn’t move to help. Just stayed, watching Tony with flat, hard eyes as he struggled to his feet, curling his broken arm to a chest that ached with physical and mental injuries both.

His arc reactor. Steve had slammed a shield _into his arc reactor._

Steve straightened when Tony was upright, and heading back through the base, apparently assuming that Tony would follow. Tony glanced back at the armor. He couldn’t leave it there. Not in the middle of a HYDRA base in _Siberia_. Tony wasn’t letting anyone get their hands on his tech, even if he had to dismantle it himself with numb fingers in the middle of a wasteland.

Steve cursed, low and dark, and Tony had to control his flinch as he brushed past him, close enough to touch. He grabbed the armor, lifting it like it wasn’t several pounds of scrap metal, and began dragging it out. He didn’t look at Tony.

Tony shivered and stumbled after him.

The base was eerily silent in the aftermath of the fight. Tony could spot scorch marks everywhere, fresh against dust and ruin. The pods of supersoldiers were still lit up, the silhouettes of dead bodies ghastly against the translucent glass.

“Zemo?” The question left his lips before his mind caught up, before he could remember Steve’s furious eyes and cold words.

“T’Challa has him,” Steve replied. _T’Challa_? Tony had no idea that the Black Panther was here. But Steve didn’t volunteer any further details and Tony was keenly aware of the tension that hung between them, waiting to snap.

Tony shuddered when they emerged from the bunker – leather jackets and suit slacks weren’t made for the Siberian chill – and stopped dead when he saw Barnes – the Winter Soldier – Bucky fucking Barnes, Steve’s goddamn best friend – leaning against the Quinjet that Steve had stolen.

The Black Panther waited beside him, and in his grasp, Zemo began to laugh.

Steve, still dragging Tony’s suit across the snow, ignored him. Barnes ignored him, his gaze fixed on Tony, eyes narrowed through a mask of blood, his hand on his gun. T’Challa ignored him, staring at Tony silently.

“Two Avengers walk into a building,” Zemo laughed, “How many come out?”

T’Challa tightened his grip. Tony was abruptly reminded that Zemo had blown up the UN and the former King of Wakanda. Tony didn’t feel up to caring.

He looked away from Barnes and forced himself to walk after Steve. 

_“Howard? Howard?”_

_“Sergeant Barnes?”_

A split-second of hesitation. Tony had seen it, had seen that moment, frozen in time, when no one moved.

Then the metal fist had swung.

“Leave it,” Tony called out, his voice not as harsh as he would’ve liked. His teeth were beginning to chatter, but he stared at Steve, who seemed determined to drag Tony’s suit all the way into his jet.

Steve dropped the suit in the snow and turned back without a second glance. Something in Tony’s stomach tightened at the way Steve didn’t look at him as he strode back to T’Challa.

“Where are you taking him?” Steve asked quietly, nodding at Zemo.

“Back to Berlin,” T’Challa replied, “They are still hunting for the U.N. bomber, so it will be easy to drop him off. And then I will be returning to Wakanda.” Steve nodded, his jaw still tight. “They will not find you there,” T’Challa offered gently.

Tony really shouldn’t be listening to this conversation if they were going to discuss harboring fugitives. He turned back and stumbled over to his suit. The metal had already gone freezing cold and his fingers were stinging, but he managed to drag it closer to his jet.

He could still hear their conversation. They were making no attempt to hide it, like he wasn’t even there. Steve was thanking T’Challa for his generosity. T’Challa was saying that he wanted to make up for chasing Barnes. Barnes cut in – and Tony checked out of the conversation, dragging his suit up into the jet. FRIDAY flickered to life around him and Tony contemplated collapsing into a seat and never getting up.

He could still hear the conversation, though, and Steve was asking if the other rogue Avengers would be welcome in Wakanda. That was what drew Tony back out again – Steve had no idea. Tony hadn’t had any idea until he’d gotten FRIDAY to track down Ross and, at the time, finding – _helping_ – Steve had been a greater priority.

Now – now he’d found Steve, for all the good that had done.

“They’re in the Raft,” Tony interrupted T’Challa extending his offered invitation. They turned to look at him, all three – Barnes, who still kept his gun between him and Tony, T’Challa, his mask impassive, and Steve, who was looking at Tony with an expression he refused to name, as if giving it a name would make it hurt _more_.

“The Raft?” Steve asked. His tone wasn’t encouraging.

“Ross has them in the Raft,” Tony said, “The other Avengers.” It was _freezing_ out here, and the temperature had nothing to do with the chill of Steve’s gaze. “Underwater prison in the Atlantic. We need to go and get them out.”

Steve stared at him for a long second. “ _We_?” he said finally. His tone wasn’t cruel, but it cut deep.

“You’re going to stage a jailbreak all by yourself, Cap?” Tony asked, and he was too tired to filter the bitterness from his tone. “Into a prison that’s been designed to hold supervillains? Going to take Armless Wonder over here?” Steve flinched, but Barnes didn’t move. “Or are you going to start a war by landing a Wakandan ship on a US military facility?”

Steve inhaled deeply and held the breath. After he let it out, his voice was quieter. “Very well.” He nodded to T’Challa, “Thank you for all your help, Your Highness.” To Tony, “We’ll take the Quinjet.”

Tony nodded, and returned to his jet to pick up the odds and ends he needed before setting the jet to autopilot and directing FRIDAY to send it back to the Avengers compound.

When he returned, Steve was stepping away from Barnes, a solemn look on his face. Barnes nodded, and turned to follow T’Challa. Tony watched him go and felt the weight of Steve’s gaze on him.

“Well, Cap,” he said, turning back to Steve, “Just like old times.”

Steve stared at him for a long moment before he turned to the Quinjet. Tony followed him, and the silence cut like a knife.

* * *

“Coordinates?” Steve asked curtly. Tony rattled them off. He didn’t take the seat up front. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be sitting that close to the man who’d nearly murdered him.

He wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with that heavy, disapproving gaze – a gaze that had moved past disappointment and into displeasure.

“A prison for supervillains,” Steve said. His tone was heavy with condemnation.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Tony snapped back.

“No?” Steve raised an eyebrow, “Seems like you’re full of great ideas nowadays.”

Tony was – he wasn’t – he didn’t – “Fuck you,” he settled for snarling.

Steve didn’t respond.

“What?” Tony hissed finally.

“I didn’t say anything,” Steve said mildly.

“Yeah, you were _not saying anything_ pretty fucking loudly, so _what_?” Tony seethed, “What does the sainted Captain America have to say?”

Steve stared out the windscreen for a long moment. He didn’t look at Tony when he replied. “You didn’t know about the Raft?”

“No, and I wouldn’t have signed the Accords if _‘cart Avengers off to underwater prison’_ was in the fine print!”

Steve continued to not say anything pretty loudly.

“It’s going to take us eight hours to get to the Atlantic, Rogers, so just say what’s on your goddamn mind.”

“Are you sure?” Steve responded.

“Am I _sure_? We’re in this mess because you couldn’t open your stupid mouth when you had to, so _yes_ , I’m _pretty fucking sure_ –”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t have signed the Accords?” Steve cut him off.

Tony stared at him. Tony stumbled to the co-pilot seat and sank into it, half-unsure as to what he’d just heard. Steve turned to regard him silently, his face blank.

Tony wasn’t sure what expression his face was making, but he knew his fingers were trembling. “What?” he said, too high, too fast, “Is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t know why you signed the Accords to begin with,” Steve said flatly, “You spent your whole life manufacturing weapons, Tony, and I can’t believe you want to turn yourself back into one. So _why_? Why the Accords? Why couldn’t you just _come back_?”

He couldn’t come back. He couldn’t come back, because he killed everything he touched and he couldn’t trust his aim anymore.

“I didn’t trust –” No, that was wrong, he _did_ trust the Avengers – he’d trusted Steve to do what was right, trusted him right up until he was confronted with the lie. “I didn’t trust myself,” Tony finished quietly. Because he didn’t.

Because his hands built Ultron, and that was when everything had started going south.

“Don’t you trust me?” Steve asked, his voice so soft that Tony half-thought he imagined it. But Steve was looking at him, exhaustion underneath the blood and bruises – the blood and bruises that _Tony_ had put there – waiting for the answer.

“I did,” Tony replied, turning away.

Steve exhaled softly and turned back to the controls. The silence hung heavy over them, a tangible thing. It was difficult to escape – Tony heard every whisper of movement of fingers on the trackpad, and winced when his seat creaked as he shifted. He could hear the slight huff of Steve suppressing a groan. His broken arm throbbed dully at the change in position, and his chest ached with something far worse than broken ribs.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tony was almost surprised at the words, but they hung in the air and he couldn’t take them back.

Steve didn’t try and pretend like he didn’t know what Tony was talking about.

“I told you,” he said, regarding Tony with an unreadable expression, “I didn’t know it was him.”

“That’s what I don’t get,” Tony snapped, “If it _was_ him – sure, you didn’t want to snitch on your best friend, I get that. But if you had no idea it was him – why not tell me? How difficult was it to say – hey, Tony, I think HYDRA murdered your parents? And don’t give me that bullshit about me leaving after Ultron. You knew about this long before Ultron ever happened, didn’t you.”

Steve stared at him silently for a long moment.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Tony said bitterly, “You can wax poetic about transparency and freedom but god forbid _you_ ever have to give up your secrets – I thought my father was your friend but you just stood by and watched him die like –”

“Because of you,” Steve interrupted flatly.

Tony took a moment to switch gears. “What?”

“I didn’t tell _because of you_ ,” Steve repeated. His eyes were two edged chips of ice. “Because I knew you wouldn’t take it well.”

Tony blinked at him. “ _Excuse me_?” he said, when he’d finally found his words.

“You,” he repeated, “You never take anything well. You’re one of the most impulsive people I’ve ever met and when you lose your grip on your emotions, you lose it _explosively_.”

Tony begged to differ. Tony wasn’t punching Steve in his ridiculous Captain America face right now, even though he really, _really_ wanted to.

“Captain I’m-Going-To-Crash-A-Plane-In-The-Arctic-Wasteland thinks _I’m_ impulsive?” Tony snarled.

“Tony, I knew you for about a day before you flew a nuke through a wormhole.”

Tony spluttered at that. How dare he – he’d been the one who started that with all his talk about laying down on wires! “Would you’ve rather I let it blow up New York?”

Steve continued, ignoring him, “And I read about what you did when…when your parents died.”

“I was _twenty-one_!”

“Afghanistan? Telling the world you’re stopping weapons production in a press conference right after you get off the plane?”

“Oh, sorry, excuse me for having a fucking realization that war is not a good idea after a missile with my own goddamn name on it embedded shrapnel into my –”

“You nearly getting yourself killed on a race track –”

“I was _dying_!

“You gave a terrorist your home address after a reporter pissed you off –”

“At least I didn’t crash three helicarriers into our nation’s capital!”

“You created Ultron.”

Tony glared at him, breathing heavily, because it all came back to Ultron no matter what angle you looked at it.

“I saw our destruction,” Tony seethed, “Because Wanda put it there. I was trying to _help_.”

“Tony,” Steve sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, “Don’t you see? That’s exactly the point I’m trying to make. Wanda made you – made all of us see horrific things. Only one of us created a murder robot.”

“The Hulk destroyed a city,” Tony retorted. Steve gave him a flat stare.

“You didn’t see it,” Tony turned away from him. The sight still haunted him. Steve’s eyes, lost in hopelessness.

_“You…could’ve…saved us…”_

Tony had _tried_.

“You didn’t see that nightmare.”

“No,” Steve said, and his voice was gentle, “No, Tony, I didn’t. But you never told me what you were doing. Never explained what you were using the scepter – _Loki’s scepter_ – for. And that’s why I didn’t want to tell you about your parents.”

“You knew about them before Ultron,” Tony pointed out.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “And I knew a lot about you too. How would you have taken it, Tony, if I’d told you?” Steve’s gaze was sharp and piercing, “Drunken rampage? Something self-sacrificing and suicidal? Would you have invited HYDRA into the Tower? Created a robot army to take them down? _What would you have done?_ ”

They both knew how he’d taken it.

“I guess I don’t have the self-control of the great Captain America,” Tony slumped down to stare at the ceiling of the jet, “To just _not care_. Howard Stark was your friend once. But it doesn’t matter. None of them mattered. None of them except Barnes.”

“It wasn’t him.”

“Bullshit. It was _his goddamn hand_.”

“HYRDA was controlling him, Tony, you know that –”

“I don’t know jack shit, because guess what, Rogers, all the info you dumped from SHIELD’s servers was _useless_ –”

“He didn’t know who he was!” Steve’s voice cut him off and Tony flinched back despite himself. Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He didn’t even know his own _name_.”

Tony stared at Steve, and felt something in his heart twist. “Then,” he said softly, “How are you so sure that’s still Barnes?”

Steve jerked his head up and Tony froze. “Because he has to be,” Steve said softly.

There was a long moment of silence, chill and tense, before it was broken again – with words too quiet to be intended for him. 

“Because I don’t know what I’ll do if he isn’t.” 

Tony curled up further in the chair and stared out the window, his eyes burning.

* * *

“You’re not going to sign the Accords, are you,” Tony hummed, trying to sift through the mess he’d left behind in Germany.

He’d already gotten Rhodey transferred to New York, and Happy and Peter out. T’Challa, true to his word, had returned to Berlin with Zemo, which had started a shitstorm that had replayed across all the major news networks and finally replaced the footage of the airport battle. There was no mention of any unauthorized passengers on T’Challa’s jet and even Tony’s prodigious hacking skills couldn’t infiltrate Wakandan tech half a world away.

No one knew where Tony was, which was all the better.

Steve barked a short, harsh laugh at that, and it died quickly. Tony looked up from his tablet, the heavy weight of Steve’s gaze prickling down his spine.

“You’re serious,” Steve said, half-incredulous, his mouth twisting into something Tony recognized easily as disapproval.

“If you sign it, then we can legitimize all of this,” Tony said, not enthusiastic – but this was probably his last chance to change Steve’s mind. “Bringing Barnes in. Bringing Zemo in. The airport – well, that was just property damage. I’ll be covering the repairs. You don’t need to be a fugitive.”

Steve stared at him, his face expressionless. Tony fought the urge to shiver.

“We are, at this very moment, heading to an underwater prison to free our teammates,” Steve said, and his face was blank but his tone wasn’t, “And you want me to sign the papers that _put them there_?”

Tony winced. “They’re not perfect,” he argued weakly, “I didn’t know the Raft was a possible outcome, but the majority of the world wants a check on the Avengers, Cap, we can’t just ignore their wishes –”

“Not perfect?” Steve raised an eyebrow, “They could haul any one of us off to a secret prison under the ocean, and your best defense is _‘they’re not perfect’_?”

Tony surged out of his chair, his fingers curling into fists. “Goddammit, Cap, we need to be put in check!”

“We?” Steve asked, his voice soft, “Or _you_?”

Tony forgot how to breathe.

He sat down, hard, and hunched over, trying to suck air into lungs that were no longer working. Steve’s words echoed in his head, in tune to Novi Grad turning into rubble, in tune to disdain of a grieving mother, in tune to the reminder that Tony was the Merchant of Death and he would never get the blood off of his hands.

_“You could’ve saved us.”_

He was Tony Stark. The futurist. Only every time he tried to protect the future, he ended up destroying it.

This time was supposed to be different. This time, Tony had been trying to protect the Avengers. This time was supposed to be _different_.

It wasn’t.

Tony dragged his gaze up, his chest pulsing to shallow breaths, and saw Steve looking at him in concern, but not in apology.

“Fuck you.” His voice was harsh and grating, but Tony forced the words out, bitter and raw. “ _Fuck you_. Captain Goddamn America, who _always_ knows what’s best. Who knows what’s right and what’s wrong and won’t let _anyone_ contradict him.”

Steve didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. He just set his jaw and continued to stare at him, silent but determined.

“Fuck you, Rogers. You were created to punch Nazis and that’s all you’re fucking good for. The U.N. isn’t HYDRA.”

Steve tilted his head to one side, something in his jaw twitching, but when he spoke, his voice was level. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Am I – goddamn, Cap, are you seriously suggesting that the diplomats of a _hundred and seventeen_ countries are all HYDRA?” Tony stared at him, disbelieving. “Everyone who disagrees with you isn’t a Nazi!”

Steve’s face grew darker, and Tony could hear the strain as he fought to keep his voice level. “No,” he said flatly, “Just most of them.” He pushed out of his chair before Tony could respond, pacing the compact interior of the Quinjet.

Tony buried his head in his hands. It had been a really, _really_ long day and he did not want to get into geopolitical nuances with a supersoldier who had apparently learned morality in terms of ‘Good’ and ‘Hitler’ and couldn’t in the slightest comprehend that they had _bigger problems_ than a bunch of U.N. diplomats.

Whatever was out there – what Tony saw in the dark void of space, Thor, _Loki_ – whatever was out there, it was coming. And the Avengers couldn’t hope to hold them off if the Earth was ripping itself apart.

Steve finally spoke, his body humming with tension and his gaze fixed on an empty wall. “They told me we won the war,” he said.

Tony stared at him. Steve balled his hands into fists before slowly uncurling them. “Seventy years I was on ice while HYDRA rebuilt itself in the shadows. While they took over a good organization started by a good woman to help protect the world. While they took over the country I fought for. While they took my _best friend_ and turned him into a monster. _Seventy years_ I slept while they grew.”

Steve turned, and met Tony’s gaze. “They told me that we won. That my fight against HYDRA was over.” His eyes narrowed. “And that was a lie.”

“Not every enemy is HYDRA,” Tony said softly.

“No,” Steve said, his blue eyes turned to ice, “No, they’re not. But I don’t like bullies, Tony, whether they’re HYDRA or the goddamn United Nations. And I will never stop fighting.”

His gaze was implacable, and Tony looked away first.

* * *

“Zemo was right,” Tony said, hollow and exhausted. They were an hour out from the Raft, and the only thing outside the windscreen was darkness.

“What?”

“Zemo was right. He destroyed the Avengers. _We_ destroyed the Avengers.” _I destroyed the Avengers_ hung in the air.

“He didn’t destroy anything.”

Tony barked a short, unamused laugh. “Half of them are in prison. I’d be surprised if your face isn’t already plastered on wanted posters. Rhodey is…” Tony swallowed, and changed direction, “God knows where Natasha is. Thor and Hulk are gone. The both of us can barely be in the same room without yelling. Face it, Cap – we’re done.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully. “No,” he said.

“What –”

“ _No_ ,” he repeated, and waited until Tony met his gaze before continuing, “We’re going to get the rest of the Avengers out of prison. I trust that Thor and Hulk will come back when we need them. Natasha would probably kneecap you for implying she can’t take care of herself.” The corner of his mouth twitched, “And we couldn’t be in the same room without yelling _long_ before Zemo, so he can’t take credit for that.”

Tony glared at him. There was a flash of a smile across Steve’s face as he leaned back in his chair. “The Avengers aren’t done, Tony. We never needed the Tower or the compound upstate or the media attention.”

“Great. You want to turn the Avengers into vigilantes.”

“I said I’d protect the Earth, there was nothing in the fine print about listening to politicians,” Steve shrugged.

“So, what? You’re creating a splinter group? Half of us will be in New York, the other half in Wakanda? How the hell is that supposed to work?”

Steve shrugged, looking out the windscreen. “All of us could be in Wakanda,” he said far-too-casually.

Tony took a moment to figure out if that meant what he _thought_ it meant before replying.

“I am _scandalized_ , Captain Rogers, are you suggesting I run away with you?” Steve huffed a laugh, and Tony let his voice turn serious. “I can’t. Pepper – and Stark Industries, and Rhodey –” And Peter and his family and – “And my _tech_ and – I can’t. I can’t protect the world from the shadows, Cap, I never could. I mean – there’s a reason the suit is _red_ and _gold_. Not the most inconspicuous colors.”

Steve hummed in agreement, but he wasn’t looking at Tony. He sighed, “I can’t, Steve. Someone needs to work on the Accords to bring you all home –” he cut himself off at Steve’s faint scoff and took a deep breath, “I know they aren’t good enough, but I swear, I’ll make sure they _will_ be –”

“If Ross could lock up a seventeen-year-old underneath an ocean,” Steve said, his voice low and hard, “Then they were nowhere _near_ good enough.”

Tony pressed his lips into a thin line, and didn’t respond.

* * *

“No suit?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow as Tony fit repulsor watches around his wrists. Tony shot him a disbelieving look.

“I signed the Accords,” he said flatly, “And you want me to break into a prison wearing the suit? Are you trying to get us _all_ arrested?”

Steve gave him an equally flat stare. “Sorry for assuming that Iron Man was the one offering to help me with a prison break.”

“You’re forgiven, Cap,” Tony retorted, fitting an earpiece in, “Don’t mention my name on comms, we are _trying_ to be discreet.”

Steve huffed a laugh at that and Tony had to fight to hide his smile. “Sure thing, Shellhead,” he agreed easily, and Tony’s amusement was replaced by annoyance at the nickname.

“You’re taking advantage of the situation,” Tony hissed. They were only a few minutes out, and, according to the scan, the Raft was currently above ground. It would be easy to land the Quinjet, especially in stealth mode.

Steve shrugged, but made no move to hide his smirk. “You remember the directions?” Tony asked and Steve recited them off quickly. “All right. I’ll find a terminal and set up – _wait_ for my signal before you move. You’ll need to be careful. I don’t know what kind of party tricks Ross has, because I was sadly not asked to consult on the design – which I suppose makes sense now, because he was designing it for the Avengers all along.”

Steve stopped smiling and nodded to Tony with a grim expression. “We’ll get them out,” he said in his Captain America voice and, for a moment, Tony was comforted by his surety.

And then he remembered the last time he heard the Captain America voice – _“I can do this all day.”_ – and he looked away.

“Aye, aye, Cap,” he said instead, and they braced for landing.

* * *

It took all of a minute before the alarms started blaring.

Steve ducked into the narrow corner between the wall and the doorframe, and waited as the doors slid open to admit a rush of black-clad soldiers. Four were past him before they noticed him, and he lashed out easily, the shield rebounding off the wall to take out the first as the others fell to his fists.

“I have control of the cameras, though you should probably assume they know who you are,” Tony’s voice crackled through their comms and Steve could hear the sound of keys clacking, “Another group is heading your way – down the corridor to your left and one level down.”

“Roger that,” Steve murmured, and slipped through the door. He took a right instead of a left, and met no one on his approach.

“Door on your right – no, not that one – yup, that.”

“This is a closet,” Steve said flatly.

“Your powers of observation astound me, Cap. Yes, it’s a closet. Hide.”

Steve gave a withering glare to the security camera that had swiveled his way, but he ducked inside and shut the door.

He didn’t have to wait for long. Several booted footsteps thudded past him and he could hear radios crackling with orders.

“All clear,” Tony said in his ear once the footsteps had passed.

“What was that for?” Steve asked, continuing on his path. He needed to go down two more floors.

“These are the brave soldiers of our glorious country, Cap,” Tony said, and there was more typing, “Were you planning to give them all concussions?”

Steve bit back his first three responses to that, and took the first set of stairs he found. “Any other obstacles?” he asked.

Silence. Not complete silence, because he could hear Tony’s breathing.

“Shellhead? Hello?”

“Hmm?”

“Any other obstacles?” He’d found another set of stairs. Now he just needed to find their cells.

“Control room right before the cells,” Tony said, “Four guards, all armed. Looks like Ross is deeper in the building.”

“We’re not here for Ross,” Steve reminded him.

“I’m aware of our mission objective, Cap,” Tony said, and Steve frowned at the lack of a bite in the man’s tone.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No.” Too high, too fast.

“ _Shellhead_.”

“A minor problem, Cap, hold on to your pants. I’m handling it. Go get the Avengers.”

Steve hesitated – he didn’t like the sound of Tony’s forcibly calm voice, and the man was practically defenseless without his suit –

No. Tony wasn’t defenseless without his suit, and he had to trust that Tony knew what he was doing. He had to trust him, or neither of them were getting out of here.

Steve got through the control room – with only one pang of guilt for fighting soldiers who were just following orders – and stepped into the cellblock.

“Steve,” Sam smiled at him, and if Steve’s answering grin was a little sharp, no one commented on it.

There was a part of him that hadn’t believed it. A part that had suspected that this was all an elaborate trap. A part of him that had stopped trusting Tony long before a sheaf of papers slammed onto a table in front of him.

A part of him that had wanted to find Ross, their plan be damned, and pound his face in.

The cell doors hissed open and they stumbled out – Clint immediately moved to Wanda, who was still curled up inside her cell, locked in a _straightjacket,_ and shaking. “It’s a shock collar,” Clint said, his hands trembling over it as Wanda looked up with terrified eyes.

Steve immediately revised his plans for Ross to reflect more _permanent_ damage.

“I don’t know how to get it off,” Clint swallowed, “I don’t – there must be some controls somewhere.”

There definitely had to be controls somewhere, but Steve had destroyed half the switchboard with his shield and he didn’t want to mess around with electrocution.

“This is Cap,” he said into his comms, “I found them. We –”

He was cut off by a heavy grunt, and the sound of a repulsor blast. Steve froze.

“Shellhead?” he ventured.

Another grunt, a sharp, vicious curse, and the whine of another repulsor blast. “Great job, Cap,” Tony’s voice sounded, hoarse and panting, “Get them out of here.”

Shouts and gunfire.

“T – Shellhead, what’s going on?” Steve said, starting for the door. He motioned for Clint to grab Wanda as she was as Scott and Sam followed him out.

“Nothing,” Tony replied. Another curse, quieter this time, and the muffled sound of an explosion.

“Shellhead, report your position,” Steve ordered, clearing the hallway before allowing the others to file out. To the left was the set of stairs he’d used on his way down, but he didn’t know where Tony was holed up.

“Stairs on your right, up a floor, hallway to the left, pass three doors –” Tony rattled off instructions easily and Steve hurried them forward, his heart caught in his throat – “Ow, _fuck_ , not cool asshole – pass three doors on the right and take the door on the left. Find the stairs.”

More gunfire and shouts. It sounded closer than before, and he could hear Tony’s harsh breathing. Steve moved faster.

“What’s going on?” Sam murmured quietly, but Steve hushed him. They found the stairs and clambered up and Steve kept listening for further directions.

“Now what?” Steve asked. They had emerged into another corridor, and there was no sign of soldiers. “Shellhead, _now what_?”

“Take any goddamn door – I’m a little _busy_ –” The high-pitched whine of the repulsor did nothing to cover Tony’s strangled cry.

Steve burst through the first door he found, and stopped dead.

“To – Shellhead, where now?” he asked, ice settling into his veins.

“You really – need me – to give – _more directions_?” Tony was breathless and snarling, “Go _up_ , idiot!”

Go up. Through the trapdoor they’d come through. Up, and out of the Raft.

“Shellhead, where are _you_?” Steve asked flatly. He should’ve known. Tony had acquiesced to giving directions far too easily. Tony Stark, who didn’t believe in things like calling for help.

Tony gave a breathy chuckle. “Get them out of here, Cap.” There were sounds of a scuffle, and Tony’s low curse, and someone else’s harsh breathing, and shouts.

“I am not leaving you,” Steve hissed, taut and furious. He hadn’t left Tony behind in Siberia and he wasn’t going to start now.

“I’ll be – _right_ – behind you!” There was the sound of something slamming, and Tony cursed again. “Idiots – don’t – Cap, _leave_ , get the jet started!”

“Cap?” Sam asked hesitantly. Clint was carrying Wanda, his back to Steve, and Scott was eyeing the multiple doors that ringed the entryway. “Cap, what’s our exit plan?”

Tony made a sound between a choke and a scream and Steve couldn’t move.

“Cap, I really hope you had a plan beyond ‘piss them all off and hope for the best’,” Clint said, and the snark couldn’t cover his fear. Wanda shook in his arms and Steve stared at them, frozen.

“I swear to god, Cap,” Tony’s voice hissed, dark and furious, “If you don’t get out of here _now_ , I will finish what I started in Siberia.”

Steve moved. “I don’t leave anyone behind,” he said firmly, pushing the others up the ladder and out the trapdoor.

“No need – to be so – _dramatic_ , Cap.” Tony hissed again, and the shouts tapered off. “I’m coming. Get out of here so I don’t need to worry about you getting caught.”

“We’ll take off as soon as you get out,” Steve promised, and headed up the ladder himself.

“Yes, I’m _coming_.” There were no more shouts now, only Tony’s sharp hiss of breath and the sound of keys clacking. “I’ll be out in a minute, start the jet.” Sam hadn’t waited for instructions, and he was already running through the preflight checklist.

“Who are we waiting for, Cap?” Scott asked, guarding the gangway.

Steve hesitated. “Just – wait,” he said finally, “He should be out soon.” He watched the trapdoor, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, desperately wishing for Tony’s face to appear –

The ground shook underneath them and, in Steve’s ear, Tony whispered, “Oh shit.”

“What happened?” three different voices sounded.

“Looks like there were some backdoors into the mainframe,” Tony said, in a tone of voice that Steve did _not_ want to hear. “Change of plans, Cap, I –”

“No,” Steve said flatly.

“Cap, I’m not –”

“No.”

“It’s not going –”

“Shellhead, _no_. I don’t leave anyone behind. Either you get out, or I’ll come and get you.”

“Listen to me for a goddamn second! You need to take off before you _can’t_ take off – you have less than thirty seconds to get into the air, Rogers, starting five seconds ago!”

“T – Shellhead, I’m not leaving you behind.”

“I’ll get out,” Tony said, and Steve wanted to believe him. “I’ll get out, Cap, but the Raft is sinking and the jet’s our only way out of here. You need to take off.”

“How are you going to get out?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Shellhead, this whole place is about to go fifty feet underwater, how –”

“I’ll manage, Steve, I promise. You need to take off, _now_!”

Steve stared at the open trapdoor for a single, precious second. He wanted desperately to run back inside and find Tony and get him out.

But he had no idea where Tony was. Sam, Scott, and Clint had nothing but the clothes on their backs, and Wanda was locked in a straightjacket.

“I’m holding you to that promise,” he vowed, before tersely giving Sam the go ahead to lift off.

It was nighttime, and it was easy for the jet to hover, a patch of darkness above rough, choppy waves. Water lapped around the edges of the Raft, higher and higher until it finally spilled over. Steve felt something clench in his chest as the water spilled past the open trapdoor.

  
The Raft kept sinking and the comm in his ear died with a burst of static.

* * *

Water was rushing through the facility and Tony skidded across wet floors, ignoring the commotion behind him, and dove through a doorway right before it sealed itself with a click. He was in the main reception area now, and every other doorway seemed to have sealed itself closed. Contingency plans to prevent a disaster from killing everyone in the facility, Tony presumed.

On one hand, it was good news because it both stopped the bad guys behind him and meant that someone had put more than ten seconds of thought into designing the place. On the other hand, Tony was now stuck in a room that was rapidly filling with water, with only one escape hatch. Up.

His earpiece crackled and died with a fritz and Tony pawed it out, cursing.

He eyed the stairs – now a waterfall – and cursed one last time before ploughing forward.

The water was to his knees now, and Tony was reminded that he really had to work on that desensitization as he pulled himself up the stairs one handed. The force became harder and sharper, until it really _did_ feel like Tony was attempting to struggle up a waterfall with an array of broken bones.

His hand slipped and he reached out with his broken arm, holding tight even as stars burst behind his eyelids. He needed to climb. Up and out. Steve was waiting for him.

Steve had to be waiting for him.

The water was in his face now, a gushing torrent that filled his nose and mouth and he spluttered, fighting free of the stream to take a big gulp of air – his last breath – before plunging back in.

His foot slipped and his weight _slammed_ on his broken arm and Tony nearly screamed. The only thought that kept him moving was that Steve, the idiot, wouldn’t leave him behind and Tony would not be responsible for breaking half the Avengers out of jail only to land them straight back inside.

Another step. Then another. His fingers grasped the edge of the trapdoor and his chest was hammering around his ribs, his lungs constricting tightly.

A forced exhale, just as he pushed off the last step. Off, and _up_.

It still dragged him down, the pressure sucking at his skin as the Raft sunk, but Tony fought for the surface, fought in the darkness, fought as desperation and fear turned into outright _panic_ , fought and fought and fought until –

Cool, sweet, _glorious_ air.

Tony gasped, rubbing his hand across stinging eyes as he kept kicking, frantically treading water. The waves were cold, the night air was chilling, and if his left arm kept shrieking at him, Tony might actually have to cut it off.

He entertained a brief thought about getting himself a metal arm before shutting it down.

He – Steve had to be here. Tony had said he was coming.

Unless Steve had taken his chance to get rid of him. He had already tried, back in Siberia, with the arc reactor. Here, he could honestly say he had no idea what happened to Tony, that the waters were too rough and dark, that Tony hadn’t gotten out, that his bones were being picked clean by fish on the ocean floor –

There. A patch of darkness blacker than the night sky. Tony swam towards it, though he didn’t know if he could really call it doggy paddling when he was using only one arm and swallowing seawater with every kick. He got closer – too close, before he abruptly realized that the jet may not be friendly.

Tony squinted. He could see blue, and an arm extended out, and bright hair and bright eyes.

“Steve,” he exhaled in a rush, kicking out to get closer before reaching out his uninjured hand. Steve reached down – but it was too far, Tony was too close to the water and the jet was hovering a good few feet above it. Any closer, and it would suck water into the engines and then everyone would drown.

Tony set his face into a snarl, and kicked up again. It hurt – some part of him was already screaming at the thought – but Tony recognized the stubborn set of Steve’s face, he’d seen it that morning in Siberia, and if they didn’t get out of here soon, they’d all end up right back inside the Raft.

Tony kicked up, and stretched out his broken arm.

Steve caught it, and _pulled_.

Tony managed to suppress the scream for about half a second before the agony actually caught up to him and short-circuited his brain. By the time he could breathe without sobbing, he was curled up on the Quinjet floor, shivering, as Steve clutched his shoulders.

“ _You_?” came Clint’s voice.

“Need to get out of here,” Tony reminded Steve, stuttering. He groaned and pushed himself upright. He always felt naked without the suit, but it was triply so when wet and bedraggled and the target of four distinctly unfriendly stares.

“We’re moving,” Steve replied, still hovering over Tony. “You good?” he asked quietly.

“Peachy,” Tony muttered. He caught sight of Clint’s narrowed eyes. “You expecting someone else, Katniss?”

“Wasn’t expecting the guy who put us _in_ jail to break us out of it,” Clint said flatly.

“First of all,” Tony sniped, “No one ordered you to come to Germany. And second of all, I told you, I didn’t think they’d put you in the Raft.” He had several more cutting things to say about Clint’s life choices, but then he caught sight of Wanda and he lost the ability to form words.

She was curled up into a small ball in the corner of the ship, red-rimmed eyes wide and petrified, still locked in the straightjacket.

“Why is she still in that?” Tony demanded, already moving towards her.

He froze when Clint replied, his voice still cold, “It’s a shock collar.”

Of course. Just when he thought Ross could sink no lower.

But his hesitation lasted for just a moment, because Tony was still the man who built a flying suit of armor out of scraps in the middle of the desert while hooked up to a car battery, and no amount of broken bones would stop him from getting Wanda out of that _right now_.

“I am so sorry Wanda,” he said, his voice soft as he rummaged through the toolkit. She had tensed up when he neared, but otherwise stayed still. “I’m going to get you out of that. I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but I will do everything I can to make sure it won’t.”

Wanda gave him a nod, small and weak, and something inside Tony _cracked_. He wanted to dive right back down, wanted to swim back into the Raft and find Ross and pummel him until his face was a pulpy mess and Tony’s knuckles were red and weeping.

He settled for destroying the shock collar. He wielded a screwdriver in one hand and a flashlight between his teeth, using the pliers to tug at the metal plates until a corner gave way. Wanda flinched with every tug – she wasn’t getting shocked, but Tony could hear her high, fluttering breaths and the rage _burned_ inside of him.

He unscrewed the corner of a plate and hesitated – he needed to hold that open, but he needed to unscrew the other corner, and his broken arm shrieked at the very thought of moving.

“You need some help?” The guy who’d turned into a giant. He was crouching at Tony’s side. “I have steady hands,” he said quietly.

Tony stared at his hands. They did seem steady. Tony passed the edge of the plate over to him with murmured instructions before sliding to the other one.

He delved into the circuit inside, hunting past resistors and capacitors to find the power source – and he had to use his injured arm now because Wanda was shivering and he needed the collar to be still – but it was fine, just as long as he didn’t think about it, it was fine, he could force his fingers to be steady and ignore the throbbing searing through his veins –

He found the battery after three layers of redundancies, and tore it out with vicious satisfaction. “Almost done,” he murmured, twisting around her to unscrew the other plates.

He pried at the edges, his fingers tightening and digging deeper into the guts of the collar – until the pieces _snapped_ and the collar broke.

Wanda was moving before the collar dropped from Tony’s numb fingers. He turned, slow, to watch her nearly tackle Clint before he caught her, his hands instinctively wrapping around her as she sobbed into his shoulder.

Her straightjacket dismantled itself in a wave of red that was honestly a little bit terrifying.

Tony looked from Wanda and Clint, the latter murmuring soothing platitudes as red energy flickered around them, to Steve, who looked at them with a stricken expression, before he slumped back into the corner and slammed the screwdriver into the carcass of the collar that remained.

* * *

“Steve,” Sam murmured quietly, and he tore his gaze away from Clint, who was rocking a shuddering Wanda and talking to her quietly. Scott was cross-legged on the floor, staring at them sadly, and Tony was examining the shock collar with only one hand and a pinched expression. “Where are we going?”

“Wakanda,” Steve answered, and Scott and Clint startled up at that.

“Wakanda,” Sam repeated, “As in, the country whose king was killed in the U.N. bombing? The panther guy Wakanda? _That_ Wakanda?”

“T’Challa followed us to Siberia,” Steve said quietly, “He knows that it was Zemo who bombed the U.N. and not –” His gaze caught on Tony and he stuttered.

“Where is Barnes anyway?” Sam asked, not noticing the hesitation, “And what happened in Siberia? What about the supersoldiers?”

“Bucky is in Wakanda,” Steve said haltingly. Tony’s shoulders had gotten stiff and tight.

Sam blinked. “And the supersoldiers?” he pressed.

“Dead,” Steve replied, “They were dead when we got there.”

There was a pause before Clint laughed at that, high and sharp. “We’ve never been that lucky in our lives, Cap. What happened in Siberia?”

Steve’s gaze was dragged back to Tony’s narrowed eyes. “Go ahead, Cap,” Tony sneered, his voice low and poisonous. “It’s your secret to tell, after all.”

Clint’s eyebrows crawled up his face until they were in danger of disappearing. Scott let out a low whistle. One dark eye peered out amidst flickering red. And Sam regarded him steadily.

“We – Zemo had – there was a video,” Steve swallowed. He was telling this all wrong. “We fought,” he said finally.

Sam blinked at him. “Fought, as in, _against each other_?” he frowned, turning towards Tony, “I thought you said that you believed that Barnes wasn’t –”

“The Winter Soldier killed my parents,” Tony said flatly, staring at Steve for a moment longer before turning his attention back to the shock collar. Steve winced as he ripped into it, methodical but no less frantic for it.

Clint’s grip on Wanda tightened as she sucked in a harsh breath. Scott opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and finally snapped it shut without saying a single word.

Sam pursed his lips, “And you got this information from – Zemo? I’m not sure –”

“No, I got this information from the goddamn _security footage_ , Tweety, so don’t try to play it off as a trick,” Tony seethed, lurching upright. “I watched Bucky Barnes slam a metal fist into my father’s face right before he strangled my mother, so don’t you fucking dare tell me it was –”

“Tony,” Steve said sharply, stepping in front of Sam, “Tony, he didn’t know, stop attacking him.”

Tony looked at him with cold, alien eyes. “No,” he said, hollow and bitter, “No, they never know, do they. It’s never _their_ fault. Good thing we have the righteous Captain to step in and defend them.”

“Tony –”

“Go to hell, Cap,” Tony shook his head, “You claim you fight for justice and peace but you abandoned it all for him. Abandoned _everything_ for him.”

“He’s my _friend_ , Tony –”

“And what are we?” Tony swung a hand around the Quinjet, “Chopped liver?”

Steve took a deep breath and reminded himself that Tony was not the enemy. “Tony, you attacked him.” Too sharp – he could see Tony’s eyes narrowing. “If he’d attacked one of you, I would’ve fought him too.”

“He _murdered_ my _mother_.”

“He was brainwashed!”

“How do you even know that? How do you know that Bucky Barnes didn’t die seventy years ago and leave behind nothing more than a shell?”

“He knows who I am!” Steve snarled, stepping closer to Tony, who backed up a step, still glaring. “He remembers me, he remembers us growing up, he remembers –”

“Then how do you know he was brainwashed?!” Tony almost shrieked, stiff and furious even as he backed into the corner.

Steve fought the urge to curl his hands into fists and glared back. “Bucky was a good man –”

“He was a _soldier_ ,” Tony cut in, and Steve fought the urge to give him another black eye.

“Bucky was a good man,” Steve repeated, his voice struggling to stay level, “And they had him for seventy years. I am sorry about your parents, Tony, but it _wasn’t him_. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

Tony was trembling, limbs locked and face twisted into fury. He exhaled harshly, and his words were poisonous, “I was captured once. They told me to build weapons. I built Iron Man instead.”

Steve saw red. He stepped forward, furious, because _how dare he_ –

Tony’s eyes were wide, his breathing harsh and too-fast, his face pale – what little of it Steve could see, because Tony had wrenched his broken arm up to protect his face, his right arm curling around his chest where his arc reactor had once been, his back flat against the wall, trembling as he tried to _get away_ –

Steve froze. Horror churned in his stomach, heavy and burning – he couldn’t move, he could only watch as Tony’s breaths got shorter and faster – and then there were arms shoving him back, sending him stumbling away from Tony.

Steve watched, swallowing past a guilt-choked throat, as Sam murmured slow and quiet instructions for Tony to breathe out slowly, and then in, and out again, until Tony shuddered and slid down the wall, his arms dropping to curl around his knees.

Sam stayed with Tony, crouching close but not touching as he coached him through several more hitched, dragging breaths. Wanda had wedged herself further behind Clint, looking at Steve with fearful eyes, and Clint was giving Steve a narrow-eyed stare.

Steve turned away – he couldn’t see Tony hiding his face in his knees, still shaking as he struggled to breathe. He couldn’t see him – eyes wide, face pale, trying to cover the reactor that he had once been unable to live without – terrified of Steve because it had been _his_ shield that had shattered it.

Steve had been trying to make Tony stop. Without his suit, Tony wasn’t a threat to two supersoldiers. Steve had been trying to make Tony stop, and had used the only kill switch he knew of.

He could taste bile in his mouth.

“Guys? I, uh, actually don’t know how to fly this thing.”

Steve stumbled to the front and replaced Scott in the pilot’s seat. He could see Tony’s terrified face every time he closed his eyes.

* * *

They were a half-hour out from Wakandan airspace and Steve ended the call with T’Challa confirming that they were slated for entry. He took a deep breath, exhaustion tugging at him – the day had started with them finding Bucky, continued through several battles against his friends, one seething, tension-filled jet ride with Tony, and a prison break.

He wanted to sleep so deeply he wouldn’t wake for a day, but he needed to ensure they got to safety first.

He turned in his seat, surveying the Quinjet with a weary gaze – Wanda was huddled in a corner, red light flickering around her. Clint had his arms braced on his knees, staring into empty space, while Scott slumped on his shoulder, his eyes closed. Tony was in the opposite corner, cradling his broken arm as he poked aimlessly at the dismantled shock collar, and Sam was leaning on him, fast asleep.

“We’ll be landing soon,” he said, wincing at his raspy voice. He cleared it, and Wanda startled up at the noise, her eyes narrowing on him. “Half an hour out.”

Clint raised his index finger from a fist curled at the side of his head. _Understood_. He didn’t turn to look at Steve.

Tony had flinched when Steve spoke, so it was clear that he’d heard even if he didn’t make any sign of acknowledgement. Scott and Sam didn’t stir, and Steve gave Wanda an apologetic look before raising his voice.

“We’re almost there,” he said, louder, “Scott. Sam.” He sighed. “ _Scott_.”

Scott started awake with a yell and flailing limbs. Clint caught a waving arm before it smacked him in the face, but made no attempt to move.

“Captain! Uh, Steve. Cap. Sorry, how long was I out?”

“A couple of hours,” Clint murmured.

“We’re almost at Wakanda,” Steve said, and Scott nodded, stretching to his feet. Steve turned to the other side of the Quinjet. “Sam!”

Sam woke up screaming and Steve sucked in a sharp breath at the name. “Riley, don’t! _Riley_ –”

He blinked and saw Wanda’s cloud of red light, and Riley’s name died on his lips. He swept his gaze around the room, giving Steve a tremulous smile – it was more of a grimace, actually, but Steve did his best to return the smile – before realizing that he was half-wrapped around Tony, who hadn’t moved or recoiled.

“I’m sorry, man,” Sam sheepishly unwound his arm from Tony’s shoulders and straightened up. “What happened?”

“Twenty minutes out from Wakanda,” Steve replied, heading back to the front. Sam joined him, not quite shivering, but Steve stayed still and let Sam lean on him to leech the supersoldier heat.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, too quiet for anyone but Sam to hear.

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

Steve gave Sam a flat stare, and Sam did his best to pretend like he didn’t know what Steve was talking about. His best was pretty good.

“You would never have been there if you weren’t following me,” Steve started, but Sam cut him off.

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there, Cap,” Sam frowned, “I’m an adult. I can take responsibility for my own actions. Yes, I followed you, and yes, it was _my_ choice.”

“I didn’t mean to – I got you caught up with Bucky – Sam, you were following Captain America. But I was Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers would follow Bucky into the pits of hell.”

“I’m following Steve Rogers,” Sam said gently, “The man who would do anything for his friends. And trust me, Rogers, I’m well aware of your end-of-the-line pact with Barnes, I was there when you found him, remember?”

Steve huffed something that wasn’t entirely a laugh, but his heart felt lighter.

“I still haven’t heard an apology regarding you being an asshole to joggers, though.”

That startled an actual chuckle out of him and Sam smiled back. The sky outside seemed to lighten the faintest amount as they flew closer to Wakanda – and what the hell was that?

“What the hell did we just fly through?” Sam asked, wide-eyed. Clint bounded up to join them at the front, and they stared at the gleaming metropolis where there had been an untamed forest thirty seconds ago.

“Doesn’t Wakanda export _textiles_?” Sam asked incredulously, “Damn, do I need to get a Wakandan shirt? Can I _afford_ a Wakandan shirt?”

“They’re the world’s only source of vibranium,” Tony said from behind them, “And they rarely let any out of their sight. I still don’t know how my – my father got his hands on enough to make the shield.”

Steve winced at the hesitation. He turned, prepared to meet Tony’s scowl, but Tony was peering out at Wakanda, looking –

Tired. He looked exhausted. Steve was reminded that as long of a day that he’d had, Tony had gone through the same. And he didn’t even have supersoldier serum to fall back on. That was evident in the way he kept his broken arm tight to his chest, the dark bruises around his eyes, and the hollow look on his face.

“Well, you can all have fun with your slumber party,” Tony said, “I’ll take the Quinjet back. Dump it in Russia maybe. Throw Ross off your scent.”

“What?”

“The Quinjet,” Tony motioned to the jet, “I mean, it’s mine so they _probably_ can’t track it, but we used it to break into a super-secret prison, so it’s better if it’s not hanging around an airport in Wakanda.”

“Tony, you’re not flying out,” Steve said. The man barely looked like he could _stand_.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “I already said no to your offer, Cap, and my answer hasn’t changed. Now unless this is a kidnapping, you can’t keep me here.”

“This _could_ be a kidnapping,” Clint mused, giving Tony a calculating look.

“Very funny, Legolas. I still have my repulsor watches, and you seem to have lost your bow. We already did this dance once in Leipzig. Give me the controls, Cap.”

“Tony.”

“ _Steve_.”

“Tony,” Steve crossed his arms and looked at him, “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Funny how no one cared about that twelve hours ago.”

“ _Tony_.”

“Give me the controls, Cap. I’m not staying here.” He was nearly vibrating in place and Steve was eighty percent sure that forcing the issue would result in either a panic attack or a hole in the Quinjet and he didn’t know how to stop Tony but he also didn’t want to let the man fly off looking like he was one punch away from a collapse.

“Stark,” Wanda said quietly. One hand was curled up against her neck, and Tony stilled as he turned to her. “I would feel safer if you were there.” She flicked a glance at the scrap metal heap that had once been a shock collar.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “That’s blatant emotional manipulation,” he said.

Wanda managed a small smirk, “Is it working?”

Tony groaned, but his fingers moved away from his repulsor watches and a familiar sulk stole upon his face.

“One night, Tony,” Steve said softly, “That’s all we ask. Get that arm looked at. Get some sleep. We won’t force you to stay.”

Tony sighed, “One night. And then I dump this ship in the middle of the wilderness and figure out how to get the Avengers out of the shitstorm you raised.”

* * *

Tony woke up feeling like shit.

The feeling like shit was nothing new – he’d felt like shit since he’d had a picture shoved into his chest of yet another victim of his own arrogance – only now his nightmares were less along the lines of his suits murdering the Avengers and more Steve’s grim look as he dug the arc reactor out of his chest and left him to die, gasping on the floor like a beached fish.

Tony would not admit he had a panic attack when he clutched at his chest and found nothing but scarred skin, but it did take him a long moment to remember how to breathe.

It was the art that did it. The art he didn’t recognize, the _green_ outside his windows, the vibranium clock on the nightstand.

Vibranium. For a _clock_.

Tony itched to take it apart to see how it worked, but a) his left arm was broken and bound up in plaster and a sling, b) that would be a poor way to repay the kindness of his host, and c) his fingers were trembling.

The window outside showed morning sun, but Tony was aware that they’d landed in Wakanda sometime around ‘the only reason we’re awake is because the world is falling apart’ o-clock and he did not feel rested enough to have slept through an entire day.

No matter how badly he wanted to.

Tony considered the merits of going back to sleep. Pros included getting rid of the burn in his eyes, ignoring the way his entire body felt like a bruise, and letting aforementioned world-falling-apart be someone else’s problem for a day.

Cons included the vivid recollection of Captain America’s glower, and the way he still couldn’t breathe right.

Coffee it was. Tony shuffled out of his room with only the vague recollection of the floor plan of the guest quarters T’Challa had showed them to and the memory of a coffee maker in the communal kitchen.

He wondered if the coffee maker was made of vibranium too.

It was. Tony eyed the cup of coffee suspiciously. Choking on vibranium-infused coffee would be the perfectly ignominious end to Tony’s hellish week, but he picked it up anyway because he needed something to shock him out of his stupor and Steve’s stupid, furious snarl playing in a loop inside his head.

He turned away from the coffee maker, steaming mug in hand – and realized that he was so exhausted he’d failed to notice that the kitchen was already occupied. 

By a person of the scowling, undead, parent-murdering supersoldier variety.

Tony made a sound he refused to categorize as a scream, and dropped the mug. The Winter Soldier startled violently at the crash of ceramic on tile, leaping up with a butter knife in the one hand he still had. Tony scrambled back at the threatening movement, and right onto hot coffee and broken ceramic. On bare feet.

Steve skidded around the corner – eyes wide, hair tousled, shield first – and took several steps into the kitchen before he blinked and finally registered the scene in front of him.

Tony, grabbing his chest and trying desperately to make his lungs work while he pressed against the counter. Barnes, holding a butter knife with a bit of jam stuck to it like he was calculating the sixteen best ways to murder him with it.

Clint was the next on the scene, and took several steps past Steve to take in the broken mug and the puddle of coffee.

Tony was still trying to convince his heart that Steve hadn’t shattered it with his shield and it could go back to working any time now, that’d be great.

“What happened?” Sam said, running into the room while squinting, “Who’s dying?” Wanda peered out from behind him, red flickering violently, and Scott popped up a few seconds later, rubbing his eyes but wide awake.

“No one’s dying,” Tony forced out with what little breath he had, and he could see them wince at his hoarse, too-high rasp. “Just startled.”

Barnes had taken several deep breaths and put the butter knife down, backing away from the kitchen table.

Steve swung his head between Barnes and Tony like he was searching for the lie.

Barnes swung a frantic look Tony’s way, before disappearing from the kitchen altogether. Steve took a step forward before freezing. Sam surveyed the kitchen for a second longer before waving Cap away. “I got this,” he said, jogging after Barnes.

Steve stared after him, the shield limp by his side.

Tony finally managed to breathe. His first thought was regret, for leaving his watches on the table. His second was…relief, because Tony would’ve attacked immediately, and there were only so many limbs Tony could destroy before Steve ran out of goodwill.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked quietly, and Steve unfroze, rounding the corner and stopping dead at the mess.

“I’m fine,” Tony said, but no one looked like they believed him. Scott found a broom and began to sweep up the broken pieces of ceramic. Clint was watching him like he’d keel over. And Wanda tilted her head to one side, regarding him solemnly.

“Tony, you’re bleeding,” Steve said, and Tony lifted the foot that was beginning to throb with stabbing pain. Right. He had a piece of the coffee mug in his foot.

Tony was not awake enough for this situation.

“Tony,” Steve sighed, and suddenly Captain America was far closer than he’d been before, stepping carefully across the parts Scott had swept to crouch at Tony’s feet. “Can you get on the counter?”

Sure he could, one anxiety attack and broken arm ago.

“Here,” Steve said, rising to clasp Tony’s waist and deposit him on the counter like he weighed nothing more than a bag of flour. Tony began to scowl, but Steve was already crouching, examining Tony’s feet carefully.

Scott swept the rest of the ceramic pieces away, and Clint had made his way across the cupboards and counters to the coffeepot. He solemnly offered Tony another mug.

“Thanks,” Tony said, trying not to wince as Steve carefully examined his feet.

“It’s not too deep,” Steve said, “Wanda, could you find me a first aid kit?”

Tony sipped his coffee and tried not to think of how it felt like a typical post-battle unwinding, with Steve being a mother hen and Clint hanging around on top of furniture and the scent of strong coffee. Those days were long gone, and he had no one but himself to blame.

Wanda returned with the first aid kit, and one of his repulsor watches. “It’s beeping,” she said.

Tony took it from her and slid it on, half-wishing it to be Pepper – but she had stopped precisely because of this, because she hated calling him after he’d disappeared, hated wondering where he’d gone and if he’d ever come back. It was probably Rhodey, or Vision, or Happy – calling to ensure that Peter got back home safe –

Tony accepted the call, and went very still.

“Ross,” he said levelly. Clint, who’d been inching closer curiously, scrambled out of the frame.

“Stark!” Ross barked, his face ruddy and furious in the flickering hologram. Across the kitchen, red light flashed ominously. “Where the hell are you?”

“I wasn’t aware that my personal whereabouts were the concern of the U.S. military,” Tony said, and, “Careful there. You look like you’re about to pop an ulcer.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Stark! I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!”

“Wow, that’s quick – usually the turnaround is more along the line of months.”

“Stark, I swear –”

“I’m not sure how you jumped to the front of the line, really, I should investigate that.”

“They escaped.”

“Sorry, who?”

“The Avengers!” Ross almost screamed, “The Captain broke them out of jail!”

“Did he?” Tony hummed, as though Captain America wasn’t, at this very moment, dabbing something stinging and cold on the cuts on his feet. “How strange. I wonder why he’d do that.”

“I order you to find him and his accomplices!”

“That’s strange – you didn’t want me to go after him in Berlin. Seemed to think that your men could bring Captain America in just fine.”

“Stark. That’s an _order_.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Unfortunately for you, Secretary Ross, I’m not a soldier,” he said flatly.

“You signed the Accords –”

“So that the Avengers would be governed by a U.N. panel,” Tony said, “The last time I checked, that panel hadn’t been set up. And I know that, because I’m one of the people that has to _sign off on it_.”

Ross stilled, his glare burning and his jaw tight. “Are you saying that you’re abandoning your country?”

“I’m saying that I signed the Accords,” Tony said quietly, “And according to the Accords, I cannot interfere in the escape of several illegally detained, enhanced individuals from a prison that most certainly violates the Geneva Convention. Not without permission, anyway.”

“Stark, I’m ordering you –”

“Goodbye, Secretary Ross.” Tony closed the call. “FRIDAY, redirect all calls from the government or military through Hill.”

“Yes, boss.”

Tony sighed and leaned over to see that Steve was finishing up on the bandages. Clint chuckled and slid closer, “I wonder what color his face would turn if he knew that you were one of the said _accomplices_.”

“Might give him a stroke,” Tony said, and looked up to meet Wanda’s burning gaze. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, “He’ll get what’s coming to him.” Wanda nodded once, sharp and flat, before leaving the room, her magic almost sizzling.

Clint sighed, and jumped off the counter to follow her.

“All done,” Steve said quietly, straightening from his crouch. “Tony, you –”

“No,” Tony cut him off – he knew where this was heading. “You said a day.”

“It hasn’t been a day,” Steve glared at him, “It hasn’t even been six hours.”

“I got the arm splinted and I got coffee,” Tony said, “Good enough.”

“Tony.”

“Steve,” Tony mimicked his tone, and then sighed, “You heard the call. He’s organizing a manhunt. I need to get the Quinjet out of here, and get him off your tail. And then work on the Accords.”

Something in Steve’s face shifted, and his gaze went dark.

“Cap. We need accountability. We need something in our way, or we’re just another group of powerful people who want to shape the world as we see fit.”

Steve’s gaze was not encouraging.

“Cap,” Tony sighed, “I’m sorry about the Raft. I’m sorry – I’m sorry about Barnes. You’re right – the Accords weren’t good enough if people like Ross could take advantage. But I’ll make it better. I promise.”

Something in Steve’s face shifted again, and he sighed. “I’m sorry for not listening,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry for stepping back, after Ultron. I’m sorry for not telling you the truth. You deserved to hear it. I was just – I was afraid. But you deserved to know the truth.”

Tony breathed out, slow and even, and stared at his toes and the coffee-splattered tile underneath.

“If I make it better, the Accords, will you sign it?” he asked his toes.

Steve was silent.

“Will you at least _read_ it?” he pressed, desperate.

“Yes,” Steve said, and Tony looked up. Steve nodded at him, familiar determination on his face. “Yes, Tony, I’ll read it, I promise.”

It wasn’t much of a concession. But it was a start.

Zemo hadn’t torn them apart. He’d merely pressed on the fault lines, and reminded them that they were there. But they had been there long before Zemo.

This wasn’t on Zemo. This was on _them_. And they would fix it. One step at a time.

The metaphor was made especially relevant by the fact that Tony had to limp his way to the Quinjet, with Steve’s displeased frown following him all the way out.


End file.
